I've Been Through Harder
by Secretdoors97
Summary: A couple one-shots of our favorite Dragon Age couples as parents!
1. What's The Matter?

The crying ripped through the hallways again and again. The baby had been crying for a good ten minutes now, or rather…ten minutes since Fenris had gone in to quiet her. Hawke sat up in bed, feeling groggy and a little aggravated from their child's loud cries.

She ripped the covers off of her and stumbled towards the nursery. Fenris rocked and bounced the baby girl, trying to calm her down as best he could. He was humming, stroking her hair, trying to get her to go back to sleep, but she was not having it.

"Is she all right?" Hawke stepped into the nursery, trying to keep her voice down so she did not frighten her child any more. Fenris moved the child gently upwards so that she was leaning against his shoulder, and crying right into his ear.

"I'm not sure. I've burped her, rocked her… perhaps something frightened her?" Hawke scanned the room for any hint of something that would frighten an infant, only shadows and tiny rag dolls. Just to be sure, Hawke covered said dolls with a blanket.

"A bad dream maybe?"

"Do infants even dream?" Hawke regarded him for a moment. He was being serious, she knew. Fenris did not seem the paternal type, and he had been very uncertain and nervous during her pregnancy, claiming he knew close to nothing about caring for an infant. She could not blame him, more than likely the chance to change a diaper had never presented to him in Tevinter.

"Yes." She said calmly. "They do." The cries were beginning to wane, but that did not mean the girl was done wailing yet. Hawke rubbed her eyes, she was exhausted and clueless. She had cared for Carver and Bethany a few times in the past back in Lothering when her mother was busy, but Leandra had always come to assist her if she needed it. What she would give for her mother to be here to tell her what to do.

"Here…let me see her." Hawke reached out and allowed Fenris to hand her the wailing child. Hawke bounced her for a moment, patting and rubbing her back while trying to calm her. "When was the last time we fed her?"

"The last time she woke us up." Fenris replied simply, stretching his arms above his head. He looked just as tired as she felt. What time could it have been? Two? Three in the morning maybe?

"Diaper?"

"Clean." Hawke nodded, and Fenris looked amused. "I am not entirely clueless when it comes to these things Hawke." He pointed out. Hawke opened her mouth to defend herself, when the cries began to come to a halt, and the baby began to calm down. Both parents looked at each other with relief as the crying stopped, and silence ensued.

"Oh thank the…" Hawke was cut off by a nasty coughing noise, and something warm running down her back. She dared not move, and glanced at Fenris out of the corner of her eye, who was doing all he could not to laugh.

"Well…there is the problem…" He covered his mouth with his fist, and "coughed".

"Just…take her…take her!" Fenris lifted the child away from her, chuckling and set her back in the cradle. Hawke felt the spit-up in her hair and down her back, and felt repulsed.

"Would you like a towel?" Fenris mused.

"Don't get too smart elf…or I'll aim her at _you_ next time…"


	2. Cliched Family Moments

"Have you ever _held_ a child before, Daylen?" Morrigan asked, as she inspected the way the mage was holding the squirming baby.

"I grew up in a _tower_ woman. I haven't had much experience with childcare."

"Evidently." Morrigan said, crossing the room to where Daylen Amell sat with their son. She wasn't entirely certain of how she felt about Daylen helping her in raising their son. He was not even supposed to follow her when she had left. Yet he had searched for her…

She took the child from Daylen's arms and cradled him. He was still a babe after all, and small enough to be cradled in his mother's arms. Daylen watched for a moment, blushing at his mistakes. "Like this." She instructed, handing the child back to his father. Daylen took him in his arms again, properly, this time. The child was still fussy, but not as bad as before. He only really seemed calm when he was held by Morrigan, and Morrigan was never hesitant to hold her son. It was a feeling that was so foreign to her, loving something so much. She vowed that while she would teach her son well, her lessons and her form of upbringing would be fairer than Flemeth's.

"I think he's calming down!" Daylen said proudly. At that, Morrigan had to smile. Daylen was simple at times. Growing up in the tower, there were so many things neither of them were very accompanied to, people and cities for one thing, parenting for another. He was a good man, a fair one, and she had been surprised when he agreed to her ritual. In hindsight, it was more than likely because Daylen did not want to die, and she did not want to see him dead either.

"T'would appear so." Morrigan said calmly, and took a seat in the chair next to Daylen. The baby cried out, and both parents flinched to see what was wrong. The child grew silent, and Daylen chuckled. "And what is so funny?"

"Have you ever imagined us as parents? I know I haven't." Their son wrapped a tiny hand around Daylen's finger. Morrigan had always known from a young age that this was to be her fate. She would carry the child with the soul of an old god… but Daylen had no notion of knowing he would father it. For right now, the child was normal enough, like a normal baby who cried when he was hungry or wet…only he wasn't an ordinary child, and Morrigan was more than happy with that. In truth, his parents were not so normal either.

Morrigan smiled as the almost clichéd family scene unfolded around her. _An apostate, a Grey Warden, and a small, old god. _ She thought. _It certainly makes growing up with Flemeth less odd._ She thought back to her mother, Daylen had killed her for Morrigan. It was for the best, in the end. Flemeth did not deserve her body, her being. And if it was done without Daylen's knowing… _my mother does not deserve Daylen_. She thought. _But then again…I did not think I did either._


	3. Arts and Crafts

"We'll be back by tomorrow."

"Yes, I know.

"His food is in the cupboard if he's hungry."

"Yes, you've told me."

"Read to him before he goes to bed brother, he does so love that."

"I won't forget." Nathaniel Howe smiled sweetly at his sister. "Don't worry Delilah, no harm will come to him while I'm watching him."

"I know. I just…this is the first time away from him. I'm nervous, that's all. And besides, Grey Wardens aren't the best baby sitters." _Well, the Warden Commander was almost a nanny to Anders and Oghren_… Nathaniel thought, but shrugged and smiled again.

"I intend to prove you wrong." Nathaniel opened the front door for his sister, and brother-by-law. "Don't worry…everything will be fine."

"I know." Delilah kissed her brother on the cheek. "And thank you again." They left, leaving Nathaniel alone with his two-year-old nephew. Admittedly, he had been hesitant to accept his sister's request to watch him, but she was the only family he had left, and he owed her that much for being away while their father went mad.

Nathaniel glanced at the child playing soundly with a pair of wooden blocks. His dark hair was messy, per usual, and he was humming a tuneless little toddler song. _This shouldn't be too hard. _Nathaniel thought. _He'll behave_.

Taking a seat near his nephew, he watched the child for a moment, the way he lined up the blocks, only to knock them down, or smash small, wooden soldiers together to mimic battle. Nathaniel leaned his head on his hand, and before he could catch himself, fell asleep.

XXX

Nathaniel opened his eyes lazily, and noted the small child still seating with his blocks and dolls. _How long had I been out_? He blinked and rubbed his eyes.

"Uncle? I'm hungry." His little nephew looked up with big eyes. His speech was still that of a babe's, but Nathaniel could still understand his slight blubbering. He stood, and headed to the cupboard, where Delilah had left something for her son to eat. He listened over his shoulder as he prepared the food, and the absence of the sound of rattling wood made him wary. He took a few steps back and glanced over his shoulder. The child had vanished, and Nathaniel had almost dropped the plate.

A banging sound told him where his nephew had vanished to. He hurried in that direction, though he was already too late. When he entered the small room, the wall closest to him was already dark with black, dried ink, and the boy had opened another bottle, and proceeded to smear it on the wall again. _He must have done that while I slept…_ Horror consumed Nathaniel when he realized there was no way he would be able to get that ink off the walls.

"Maker…" He breathed, a hand hovering above the walls, afraid to touch them. "What did you…? How did you….?" He couldn't finish a sentence, only glance at the ruined walls, and to his nephew, whose lower lip was jutted out. He knew he had done something wrong.

"You don't like it?" The child said, voice cracking.

"Your mother might not…" Nathaniel muttered, quietly enough for the child not to hear. He looked over, and almost slammed his head against the wall when he saw that the boy too, was covered in ink. "Delilah's going to _kill _me…" He shook his head. _Even a Grey Warden cannot protect himself from the wrath of an angry sister…_ He knelt down and took the bottle of ink from the child, and set it high on the wardrobe. "Come on…we need to get you cleaned up." He said. "And the wall too…somehow."


	4. Little Knight

Aveline watched her guards training in the yard. Donnic has taken the liberty of sparring with them today, using simple wooden swords, much to the rookies' displeasure. Her son grasped her hand next to her, watching with fascination at every strike. He'd asked her time and time again when he could use a sword like his mother and father did, but he was only five, and time and time again Aveline told him, wait until you're older.

Displeased as he had been, he did as his mother bid, and watched, and cheered for his father when he managed to disarm a rookie guard. His excitement had made her smile, but distracted Donnic. Hearing his son cheer had allowed him to let his guard down, and he would turn to smile at him, only to be hit in the hand or chest with a wooden sword, then it was the rookies' turn to cheer.

But he had been uncharacteristically quiet this last fight. He was certainly a firebrand, and loud as all hell, but hearing him so silent. She looked down at him, mouth shut, not sharing his occasional five-year-old chatter with her. She swung her arm, hoping to get a noise out of him. He grunted in surprise.

"What's wrong little knight?" She asked.

"Those rookies' aren't very good. If they aren't good, I might be good at fighting." He muttered, trailing off and looking up at her, eyes bright. She sighed.

"I've told you love, you're still too young to be fighting with a sword." Aveline said gently. He pouted and looked at the ground.

"I think we're good for the day." Donnic said, picking up a loose sword from the ground, and dismissing the new guards. "Good job today." As the yard began to clear, the boy released her hand and ran to his father, who had to quickly drop the swords to greet him.

"You beat those guards today papa! You did!" He exclaimed squealing. "They were bad, mama agrees." Donnic looked to her in slight surprise.

"You know I never said that." She scolded her boy gently.

"Can I use a sword now papa?!" Her son ignored her. Hot-headed, her little soldier.

"That's up to your mother." Donnic said, setting him down gently .

"Mama always says no!" He argued. "Mama if papa says yes…?" Aveline and Donnic exchanged a looked.

'Just once.' Donnic mouthed, and Aveline nodded.

"Oh, all right. You've convinced me, but wooden." She said, taking one sword from the ground, handing one to the boy and the other to Donnic. She didn't want to have to duel her five year old, and she still didn't approve.

Donnic positioned his son's hands around the sword; he still needed two to hold it, which made Aveline's gut tighten nervously. The boy swung the sword with all his power and Donnic had to stumble back to avoid being hit in the face. "Careful!" Aveline yelled. The child giggled and before anyone could stop him, he charged right at Donnic, swinging the wooden sword like a lumberjack would his axe.

Donnic had no time to react, and was rewarded with a swift hit to the shins by his only son.

"Ow!" He said, holding his leg with one hand, and grabbing the still-flailing wooden sword with the other. Aveline pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Her husband plucked the sword from his son's fingers.

"Not like that." He said simply, gave it back, and this time readied himself for the fight. Aveline watched, feeling more and more dread build in her stomach. Their five-year old would still swing the sword like he was swatting flies, and wasn't exactly happy with that, but maybe this would quench his desire for swordplay for a while.

"Ha! I knocked it out of papa's hands! Mama did you see that?" He bounced up and down, pointing to the sword, beaming hugely. Aveline smiled a little bit, despite herself. As Donnic went to pick up off the ground, he received a swift chop to the back. Aveline shook her head.

_Or maybe it will feed this fire_…She thought.


	5. Snow Day

**A/N- Okay, take two for this chapter. I goofed **_**badly**_** and uploaded a new chapter for an entirely different story I'm working on...they're both the fifth chapters and I guess I just saw the five I labled and…oops. Sorry about that everyone, and for all of you who noticed and are rejoining this little story, I'm super sorry about the confusion! **

Traveling from Antiva back to Ferelden with a four-year-old in tow had been quite enough of an Experience for Lyna Mahariel. She and Zevran had been lucky enough to get themselves a measly little horse for the trip there, and she hoped upon hope that Alistair, in his kingly generosity, would give them one stronger than what the stingy little man in Antiva City had made them pay for.

There were a few things she hadn't been very ready for when returning, one of which, was the cold. She'd grown up in Ferelden, the cold was something she'd been accustomed to her entire life. But, apparently, moving to Antiva for a few years really wears and tears at that particular advancement. She'd grown so used to humid, sticky days and nights that coming back to her harsh Ferelden made her gasp as the freezing wind hit her. Suddenly it felt like a slap to the face to her instead of normal, everyday weather. There was also the gathering of heavy clouds above, which, she knew wasn't the hot rains in Antiva- this was heavy Ferelden snow. A small part of her missed the heavy snows that would blanket her clan's grounds and show their tracks to every passer-by, but the other half wished silently to herself that this wasn't snow, just a cloudy, cold day.

Their tiny son lay bundled on the worn, leather saddle that had come with the horse, his father's hand on his back to keep him from falling. Lyna looked back at them, and Zevran's eyes flickered to the sky, and back to her. _Snow. _She mouthed to him. Zevran's face immediately fell and he twirled his finger in a circle to show his sarcastic joy. She glanced back to her child. He looked so Antivan, even here, it was startling to her. His skin was so tanned and dark, as was his hair and he shared the same amber eyes as his father. His pointed ears would give him trouble in the future, but only if he let them.

A few heads turned as they made their way through Denerim towards the royal palace. The sky was growing darker now and all she wanted was a bed and a fire going. That was exactly what Alistair gave them when they entered- the warm welcome one only gives to old friends, and showed them to their rooms.

By the time they'd gotten settled in, the snow was picking up, making piles on the windowsills outside and falling to the ground in thick, white flakes. Their son watched them through the window, chin resting on his crossed arms as he admired the foreign flakes outside. "Mama why doesn't it snow at home?" He asked.

"Because it's not cold, _ma vhenan_. It only snows where it's very cold." She said simply, pulling back the sheets to the large bed in their chambers. He was silent for a moment, and then finally said

"I want it to snow all the time back home!" He said excitedly.

"Ah, no, you don't." Zevran said, and upon receiving a sharp look from Lyna quickly corrected himself. "I mean, you wouldn't like the cold, and I don't think the rest of Antiva's ready for it." The little elf pouted, and looked at his mother.

"Can I play in it mama?" Lyna came to the window and played with her son's hair.

"Of course love, when there's more on the ground. Now come to bed." The little boy scattered from the window to the soft little cot provided for him, and snuggled under the thick blankets. Lyna crawled into her own bed and rolled onto her side to look at Zevran, who was following suit. "Just because you don't like the snow doesn't mean he can't be a little curious." Zevran arched a light eyebrow.

"_Amora_, if it snowed in Antiva there would be wide-spread panic in the streets." He said gently crawling into the bed. Lyna rolled her eyes and laid down, casting one more look at the window before she fell asleep.

XXX

"Papa! Papa wake up!" The little boy shook his father's shoulder violently in an attempt to rouse the elf. Zevran groaned and rolled over.

"Mmm?" He asked sleepily.

"Look at all the snow!" The little boy was grinning as wide as his face would allow. "C'mon papa can we play in it? Please?"

"Can it wait about…say two hours?"

"Papa!" The little boy crawled onto the bed. "It might not be there then please?! Please papa?" The little boy pouted, making a weapon out of his large, toddler's eyes. Zevran sighed, completely unable to deny those eyes anything.

"Fine, fine. Put on something though, your mother will kill me if I let you out there without some kind of hood." The child squealed and threw himself from the bed, scrambling to find a coat or cloak.

Outside, the sky was white, and still spitting small, frozen drops. Zevran didn't like the fact that he could see his breath, or that his face hurt when he stepped outside. He was so unaccustomed to the harsh Ferelden weather; he tried to avoid going outside at all costs when it got this cold. This frozen world, however, had an adverse effect on his tiny son, who immediately fell to his knees to pick up a handful of the stuff.

The boy had such thin little gloves on, it was a wonder to his father how his hand was not freezing. "Papa! Look!" He pointed to the small square where a few children had the similar idea of being up and in the snow early, and they were in the process of constructing a small, sloppy snowman. "I want to make one of those! Oh, can we papa?" Zevran kneeled down, careful not to let his legs touch the frozen ground.

He had no idea how to make a snowman.

"Okay…" His fingers grazed the ground and he rolled a little ball of snow, packing it bigger and bigger.

"Lemme!" The little boy took it from his hands and tried to follow his father's lead, but he pack the snow too hard and the ball crumbled apart. The little elf stared at the wreckage with disappointment.

"That's all right." His father said kindly. "You just can't pack it so hard, you need to be gentle." He said, taking the largest clump of ice from the snowman carnage and pressing more snow against it. The boy watched and grabbed another clump, pushing it against the growing ball.

The snowman was nearly complete when Lyna came outside, and paused, watching her husband and son make little snowmen the courtyard of Denerim's royal palace. Zevran had his back to her, and was slightly bent over to round out the snowman's middle. Lyna scooped up and rounded a clump of ice, and hurled it as hard as she could at Zevran's back. Being the archer she was, it nailed its target on point.

"_Braska_!" Zevran gasped, standing straight up and glaring at her. She burst out laughing, trying to arm herself just in case, but the assassin was too fast for her, and had already pegged a ball at her arm.

"I thought you didn't like snow!" She said between snowballs and breaths of laughter.

"I don't like the cold, _amora_." He said, almost menacingly. "But I'm wearing gloves." He smirked, made another snowball, and hurled it at his wife. Lyna didn't fight back though, and glanced at the snowman their son had stopped working on to watch the scene unfold, and made a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat.

"It needs arms, love." She said in her son's cold ear.

"And a face." Zevran said breathlessly, arms crossed, staring thoughtfully at the frozen man. "Go find sticks, perhaps?"

"And some rocks." She gently shook her son's shoulders and he ran off to gather the materials. Lyna smiled and leaned against Zevran.

"He'll be devastated when we get back." He laughed. Lyna watched the little boy crawl onto his hands and knees looking for rocks in the courtyard, and smiled sadly. She always remembered the time she would run around the clan's camp with Tamlen and look for sticks and rocks for a poorly built snow-elf.

"He needs ears." Lyna said. "We'll make a snow-elf instead." She smirked and followed her son to find them.


End file.
